


that one where sam kills a black dog

by rei_c



Series: The Genderfluid(ity) 'Verse [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Blood and Gore, Cold Weather, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Gender or Sex Swap, Hunters & Hunting, Kissing, M/M, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation Kink, Near Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a stupid idea to do this hunt this time of year -- Sam told him that from the very beginning but no, Dean had to push for a black dog hunt in Minnesota in fucking November. </p><p>Someday he might actually learn to listen to Sam when Sam tells him he's being an idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that one where sam kills a black dog

"Sometimes it doesn't feel very fair," Sam says. 

Dean glances over at his sister and then focuses through the rifle sight again, shrugging the collar of his jacket up a little higher. It was a stupid idea to do this hunt this time of year -- Sam told him that from the very beginning but no, Dean had to push for a black dog hunt in Minnesota in fucking November. 

Someday he might actually learn to listen to Sam when Sam tells him he's being an idiot.

"Gonna have to give me a little more than that, sweetheart," he says, exhaling and watching his breath cloud in the air. 

"I dunno," Sam says, "just, y'know. This," and Dean looks over to see Sam gesture at her body. "I didn't -- so many people feel the same way as me but it's not like they can just track down a witch and get a spell to fix them." 

Personally, Dean wants to have a word with Sam about her use of the word "fix" -- sure, she wasn't born right, but there are times when Dean sort of misses Sam's dick, the depth Sam's voice used to get, the way Sam was so huge and strong and powerful and always, _always_ gave himself over to Dean. 

"I mean," Sam goes on, "I never had to take the hormones or get the surgeries or even really -- I never even tried to pass, not really. Right? I cheated. It was like, okay, one day male, the next day female, no awkward in-between." 

"Your whole _life_ has been an awkward in-between," Dean says before he can stop himself. He winces, can guess what Sam's taking from his words, and sets the rifle down, reaches out to Sam, puts one hand on her shoulder. "Look, Sam, that's not -- you were never happy. For _years_ , you were never happy. Can't you just -- can't we just have this? Without the guilt trip?"

Sam puts down the binoculars, takes Dean's hand in one of hers. They're both wearing gloves, sure, but Dean could swear he feels the heat of Sam's skin even through two layers, wants nothing more than to take his gloves off so he can get skin-to-skin with her. "No guilt trip," she says. "Just -- sad, I guess." She holds Dean's glance, then looks away, snorts. "Must be my time of the month, huh." 

That gets Dean's heart racing. Sam's never really settled into a schedule with her period; they've gone to doctors and asked about how bad her cramps are, done every test to see if there's anything wrong, asked everyone they can think of if there's anything they can do to make it better. Sam's tried five different kinds of birth control to regulate her cycle but each one of them, without fail, has made her anemic and turned her into a puddle of depressed hormones for three weeks, then a bundle of psychotic rage for the fourth. They've tried herbs and supplements and even, at Dean's urging, homeopathic remedies. Nothing has worked. Nothing's even come close and most of them just make things worse. 

In the privacy of their own lives, Sam tells Dean that if this is the price she has to pay, she'll do it gladly. Dean still worries, though, and always has, felt completely useless until the first time he fucked her through the cramps and they both realised how much relief an orgasm gives her. It's not like Dean lives for the blood or the mess but Sam's a little more wild when she's on her period, a little more full of need, and god, the fucked-out sated smile she gives him after two days of nothing but sex and hot water bottles and chocolate is one of the hottest things Dean's seen in his entire fucking life. He _loves_ it when she's on her period and always feels guilty for that when it causes her so much pain.

"Pervert," Sam mutters, leaning up enough to elbow Dean in the ribs. She's holding back a laugh, though, and trying to keep from smiling though she's failing miserably. 

"And you love it," Dean replies, grinning at her. 

Sam rolls her eyes, picks up the binoculars and looks back down at their target's lair. Dean watches her a moment longer, can't take his eyes off of her without that last up-and-down sweep of worry and lust that's a combination of big brother and lover he never really tries too hard to think about. 

If Sam was worried about how their parents would react to her transformation, Dean's always been terrified of what they'd say if they knew how young Sam was the first time Dean looked at him and wanted, of how they'd react knowing that Sam's big brother, the one that was supposed to protect him, has instead been fucking him -- and her -- for years now, what they'd do if they knew that Dean not only encouraged Sam to explore her gender and sexuality but actively _forced_ Sam into doing so. 

Regret for that decision will probably haunt Dean until the day he dies. 

"Dean," Sam says. The tone of voice instantly grabs his attention, worry and confusion and the slightest hint of panic. He picks the rifle up, looks through the scope, and curses. Paw-prints, visible on the snow, leading out from the lair -- but no sign of the dog. 

They aren't prepared for this. They'd planned on a long-distance disabling shot, taking down the dog while they're safely a few hundred feet away and only getting closer when they know they won't be in harm's way, and Dean's been so distracted by his sister that he's possibly just put her in a ridiculous amount of danger. They're armed, of course, but nothing very serious, and the Impala's a good mile and a half away, too far to make a run for it when their target's on four legs and has much better night vision than they do. 

" _Damn it_ ," he mutters, "fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," and he's setting down the rifle and reaching for the gun shoved in his jeans when he feels all the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight. A moment later, there's a hungry snarl behind them, something that sounds wet with saliva and thirsty for blood. 

Dean looks at Sam, spends a priceless moment in silent communication with her, and then they split, rolling to different sides and getting on their feet as fast as possible. Dean's gun is loaded with silver shot but the dog won't stay down for long even with a shot right to the head; they'll have to cut the head off entirely before they're safe. 

The black dog leaps at Dean. He gets off three shots, making the creature snarl in pain, but it doesn't stop the dog from pouncing on Dean, pinning him to the ground. Dean drops the gun, wrestles to keep the dog's muzzle from getting anywhere close to Dean's skin. Its teeth snap at Dean's throat, it's slowly starting to overpower Dean, and then the dog's howling, turning its attention away from Dean. It jumps off of Dean, stumbles a little, and as Dean's struggling to sit up, he sees the blood flowing out of the dog's belly. 

"Come here, puppy," Sam's saying, crouched low and backing away slowly, eyes narrowed and fixed on the dog. It growls, stalks her, and she looks just as feral as the animal, fury in her eyes, as she keeps stepping backwards. "There you go. Good dog." Dean's heart is in his throat; he's frozen in place until Sam says, "Dean, get the rifle." 

He moves, thinks it's slow enough as he slides over the snow towards the rifle, but the dog hears him, decides that it'd be better to go after the one already on the ground, and turns around. The dog snarls and, a moment later, howls in rage and pain. 

Dean scrambles for the rifle, convinced that he's going to end up with a huge bite mark in his neck at any moment, but by the time he gets the weapon and is ready to shoot, the dog's on its belly, limbs splayed out, panting and whimpering with every sluggish attempt to move. 

Sam's straddling its back, hacking away at its neck; she's gotten far enough that the dog can't muster up any sort of protest at all. Dean's blood is pounding in his ears and it takes him a couple seconds before he hears what she's muttering under her breath, one word with each chop of the machete at the dog's neck: "Not -- my -- fucking -- brother."

The head rolls off as Sam saws through the last piece of muscle and she sits back, catching her breath, gloves and coat covered in blood and gristle and thin slivers of bone. 

"God, you're fucking gorgeous," Dean says, can't help it, doesn't even hardly realise he's said anything until the words are ringing through the silent forest around them. 

Sam looks at him, flushes, and tries to play it off, says, "You're just saying that 'cause I saved your life. Jerk." 

Dean smiles at her, knows the smile is as flustered as she is, welling up out of as much relief as she must feel, adrenaline wearing off as they both catch their breath. "Bitch," he says. He aches to get his hands on her, to make sure she's all right, to bury himself inside of her so he knows for a fact that she's going to be fine, to feel her just as desperate as he is, just as breathless; he can't move, though, can't bring himself to stand up. 

"Idiot," Sam says, and she slides off the headless corpse, ends up on her ass next to the dog, close enough to Dean that he can reach out to her -- and he does. "Next time I want to veto a hunt, we veto it. Agreed?" 

"So bossy," Dean murmurs, fingertips trailing over Sam's face, nose already buried in her hair. He thinks of the dog behind them, thinks of what might have happened if Sam was less lethal with a blade, if she was any less vicious and willing to fight, and holds her tighter. "But yeah. Agreed. _Fuck_ , Sam." 

He leans down to kiss her and she turns her head away, ducks enough that his lips don't even glance across her cheeks. Dean's worried, instantly, that she's _that_ pissed off at him, but Sam snorts, pushes his shoulder, says, "I am so ridiculously dirty right now, Dean, come on. I've got fucking _dog bone_ in my teeth." 

Dean raises an eyebrow, letting all his thoughts about that flow right across his face. "You think I _care_ , sweetheart?" he says, echoing her tone. 

Sam laughs, noise rolling out over the snow. This time, when he goes to kiss her, she lets him.


End file.
